Beautiful Despair
by Kittie Darkhart
Summary: For their love, she sacrificed everything. But now that he is gone, she is lost—lost in a sea of grief and despair. How far would one go to escape such agony? Story based on Appendix A.


**Disclaimer:**** _I do not own Lord of the Rings, characters, places, etc. All rights belong to J.R.R. Tolkein. (Such a wonderful genius!)_**

** Beautiful Despair**

The last, precious throbs within his heart ended, the warmth and breath of life leaving his weary form. His magnificent azure eyes closed for the last time, his intent and kingly gaze passed away like a cool breath on the winter's chilling wind.

His grip around her smooth hand lessened, leaving only the remnants of his kind touch. No more would this man laugh, comfort those around him, whisper ardent metaphors of love and passion, or cry when grave news reached his ear.

No, this man would no longer light the world with his benevolent love for men; his soul had passed on to the halls of Mandos, where all dwelt until their release from waiting. 

He would reside there with his ancestors, great kings of the past and rulers of legend. The souls of heroes, dwarves, and elves who had fallen in battle also lingered, waiting for their time to enter the illustrious halls of Valinor—the elven paradise. 

Tears brimmed within her soulful eyes, as the radiance within their deviant, sapphire depths was quenched from them—leaving nothing but a indistinct memory of their eminent beauty. 

No more would she see joy within this realm. All the beauty and reason for living within this world had left with him. No more would she laugh or find happiness in this age.

And so with a heavy heart, she left her husband's cold monument, her children, and the halls of Minis Tirith, and descended into the faded lands of her kin, finding nothing but a dull landscape, dense and void of life. 

There was no music, no laughter, and no comfort for her; only the hollow memory of what once was. 

The ebon mourning shrouds added sorrow to the dense atmosphere, leaving nothing but the feeling of anguish, desolation. Her shrouds waved within the chilling wind, giving her a haunted, ethereal look. The black veil, which masked her face left her features static, unreadable. 

Her ashen hands pulled away the dark obscurity, revealing an unprecedented beauty, which held dominion over all fair maidens within Middle-earth. She was the incarnation of Lúthien Tinúviel, the fabled elven beauty of the First Age. 

Her ancestress' unrivaled beauty thrived within her, but she found no pleasure in this knowledge, only that it captured the heart of the man who had taught her more in two centuries than her life of two millennia. 

Oh, he taught much within their short time together. A brief, blissful interlude that filled her soul with delight, and gave her hope, hope in men, hope for a life of happiness. 

And she had it—if only with him. But now he was gone, leaving her in a dark world without a ray of light to ease her loneliness. There would be no comfort, no way to alleviate the pain of his passing. She would live on, and watch the starless world until she fell victim to Death.

Anything would be better than enduring a lifetime—eternity—in this deadened realm. The Void even displayed promise. But this was her fate, her choice. She would suffer the consequences, the price she paid for a short time of pleasure.

She felt the wind sting her pallid face, her lush, rosy lips forming into a thin line. Dark lashes graced against her cheeks, contrasting the milky complexion against their ebon lines. Her dark hair fell in long tresses, the deep colour black as the midnight sky. 

She was a star. A star, which held light for all, and the last to give this dense land the memorable beauty of the elves. But her light was fading, the brilliance diminishing like a snowflake touching flesh. Her beauty, her light would fade and be forgotten by the rest of the world.

But she cared not. 

Her lifeless eyes stared at the landscape, seeing all, yet only through a grey prospective. She could no longer distinguish colours, textures, emotions; all those earthly pleasures were gone now. 

She was an empty shell, only living because her body persisted. She was trapped between realms, knowing that she would linger within this hellish limbo for the rest of her days. If only the pain would cease, if only she could find peace, if only…

Her footsteps through the dry leaves halted, her breathing caught within her throat. Sapphire eyes glazed over, as if transfixed by an unknown force. She stood like a statue, steadfast, unmoving. 

For there beyond the weathered trees lay a small, rounded hill. Her heart wrenched from the sight of it. Turning away, she felt the pang of despair pierce her soul. Her heart shattered like glass, her listless eyes emitting crystalline tears. 

Cerin Amroth.

The name caused another wave of grief in her tormented soul. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she forced herself to look at the hill. Memories flashed through her mind's eye, the vivid images of what once was playing like an unending mantra within her mind. 

Biting her lower lip, she forced herself to walk: her destination fixed, her will set.

With each step, she found enough courage to move on. And although tears threatened to fall from her sapphire eyes, she compelled herself onward, onward to confront the pain within her aching heart. 

She found herself standing at the base of the mount, and eyed it warily. So many memories, so many bittersweet moments transpired here. Oh, how it tore her heart in twain from the thought of it.

As an unwilling pair of tears fell from twin stars, she fell to her knees in silent thought. The soft, bladed grass caressed the curve of her palm, as if giving comfort to her. The scent of elanor and niphredil eased her troubled mind. A western wind teased her ebon mane, giving it life with its invisible fingers.

To find such peace in her time of grief was strange, unexpected. It was as if something—or someone—was here, with her trying to alleviate her pain, her longing.

But it was no more than wishful thinking.

How could she dare to hope when there was none left? All was gone from her life, and she had no will to endure a moment longer.

Closing her tired eyes, she lay against the soft grass, wiping away crystalline droplets from her tear-stained cheeks. Darkness clouded her mind, leaving nothing but the silent atmosphere of shadow and doubt.

"Ú-chebi estel anim," she softly murmured into the wind.

She had no more hope; it faded the moment he left her.

A new set of tears escaped her closed eyes, leaving nothing but a well of unending sadness. And in this sadness, she poured her fury, her desolation, and her defeat. How could she ever dare challenge the Doom of Men?

But she was also resigned to that fate.

And now, she would wait, wait for the desired release Death would give her. It was a promise, a gift for the children of Eru Ilúvatar, which had been twisted by the deceitful Melkor—Morgoth—during the First Age of this world.

A sigh escaped her, feeling Winter's frosty fingers caress her face. The deadened leaves rustled in the background, providing a haunting symphony from their dried bodies. 

A flake of snow touched her ruddy lips, quickly melting from the warm contact. She opened her eyes a small fraction, seeing the dense atmosphere cover itself in a robe of white, the pure, untainted cloak blinding all in its wake.

She closed her eyes once more, feeling the Season's cold embrace. It was like death, but less comforting. 

As the darkness flooded her vision once more, she released herself from the contingencies of the world, feeling nothing other than a dull sense of discontent. There would be no escape from this grievous wound; she would bear it until her last breath.

Another swayed breath escaped her, and then she realised what a fool she'd been. These trite notions of solace would not ease her suffering; they would only prolong it. The harsh realisation shattered her soul. Feeling at last the cruel knowledge of defeat, she accepted her fate.

And Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar of her people, drew her final breath, and passed away from the World of Men.

Time and all knowledge ceased to exist, leaving only the sense of uncertainty. 

And then she felt no more pain, no more heartache. Ethereal light and soothing music lifted her soul, alleviating the remnants of her pain. And there her eyes focused upon a very familiar, very loving face. Her heart ached with unprecedented joy—absolution at last.

The benevolent visage of a man, wearing the garments of his kin, greeted her with a loving smile. His azure eyes spoke volumes of adoration and passion, but were also filled love. 

She mirrored his smile, as blissful tears escaped her eyes. 

"Arwen, my love, I've missed you."

****   

Author's Note: I hope that I have the events from the book correct—I haven't finished reading it yet. This one-shot was based on The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, found in Appendix A. 

**I've wanted to write this piece for quite some time, and have finally gotten the time—and nerve—to write it, albeit it turned out quite differently from what I expected. But I must confess that I'm proud of it nonetheless. I just hope it's not too flawed! ^_^***


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